


Spring in Kazakhstan

by katsudonfemmefatale



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Best Friends, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Kazakhstan, M/M, Minor Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsudonfemmefatale/pseuds/katsudonfemmefatale
Summary: Viktor and Yuuri bought him tickets to Kazakhstan for his birthday, but he wasn't able to sleep on the plane. Why could he never seem to tear his mind from his best friend? And what would happen after this weekend when he had to leave him once again?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gwaeren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwaeren/gifts).



> My first OtaYuri so please, please go easy as I'm not used to writing these characters! Hope you like a bit of fluff!
> 
> This was inspired by, and couldn't be done without the beautiful Gwaeren, who provided all of the Russian and made me believe in the pairing. That's why, even though she's already read it, I'm gifting it to her. My eternal source of inspo.
> 
> For more YOI-related stuff, feel free to follow me on tumblr at katsudonfemmefatale.tumblr.com <3

The airport was so quiet. It was his first thought as he slung his garish leopard-print weekend bag over his shoulder, trying not to show to the few other passengers around him how tired he truly was. It was early in the morning, and he was grumpy. Well, grumpier than usual.  
Yuri had tried to sleep on the plane, he really had, but found that no amount of coaxing his brain to try and shut down would be effective. And so he had sat, eyes fixed out the window at the stars above, hood up for comfort and protection from the gaze of those around him. His headphones on, entwining the cord of them around and around his fingers. Passengers dozed around him like warm mannequins under the soft light of the moon. His destination was three hours ahead of time, and his flight hadn't left until nearly 10pm St Petersburg time. It was early morning, and he had lost the chance of sleep.  
He glanced around now at the freezing open space of the airport, surprised by how cold it was, watching businessmen blow into steaming cups of coffee with tired eyes and checking their watches... attendants in scratchy-looking high-vis jackets yawning at the start of early shifts, or the end of late ones.  
The flight had made good time, actually arriving ten minutes early, and he was grateful for that at least. Hands in pockets for warmth, he followed the signs toward the men's room.   
The teenager dropped his bag, heavily, but still with a little more care than usual, cautious of the laptop inside, to the unattractive gray tiles of the floor. He studied himself in the mirror. His pale skin looked even more sallow than usual, ashen, purple circles forming under his eyelids, and he hoped the terrible airport lighting could take most of the blame. He pushed down the worry that built, trying to remind himself that it was first thing in the morning with a three hour time difference, and he had just stepped off a flight.  
Although giving off an aggressive air to most, something that Yuri cared about intensely, and one of few things that could cause insecurity to bubble up in him, was how he looked. He would never admit it to anyone, but it was important to the sport. It was important to his sponsors. It was important to him. He tucked his hair behind his ears and splashed cold water over his face. It was freezing, but it woke him a little more at least. He used his fingers to pull the fine blond strands back over his face a little, then replaced his dark hood and examined himself in the mirror. He looked the same as before. Hopefully the dim light of early morning would mask how awful he felt he looked right now.  
Yuri looked down at his phone. It was just about 6am. Ignoring the slew of texts that continued to pop up from Viktor, he pocketed it. He used the urinal, washed his hands, then slung the bag over his shoulder again. Yuri had been shocked that it was even colder here than Russia, and he didn’t really want to face the chilling air, but knew that it was about time for him to leave.

***

Yuri stood outside the airport, staring down at his phone and pretending not to be people-watching the streams of figures now pouring through the glass doors to catch early flights. His hoody was pulled up over his mouth, and although the metal of the zip was freezing against his lips, his constrained breaths into the fabric at least allowed half of his face to stay warm. As his emerald irises followed the path of a young couple passing by, his phone once again buzzed in his hand.  _ Better answer now or he won’t stop,  _ he thought.  
It was 3am there; why couldn’t Viktor just leave him alone?

_ Дай мне знать, когда ты сядешь в самолет :)  
_ _ Let me know when you get on your flight :) _

_ Юра, ты добрался до самолета без проблем? :)  
_ _ Yuri, did you get your flight okay? :) _

_ Юри начинает волноваться, пожалуйста, дай нам знать когда ты приземлишься!  
_ _ Yuuri’s getting worried, please let us know when you land! _

_ Юра, все в порядке?  
_ _ Yuri, is everything okay? _

_ Я проверил и здесь сказано что твой рейс приземлился раньше; ты там?  
_ _ I checked and it said your flight landed early; are you there? _

_ Я думаю, Юри собирается звонить в аэропорт. Ты упрямее чем обычно. Пожалуйста, дай нам знать что ты в порядке :(  
_ __ I think Yuuri’s about to call the airport. You’re being more obstinate than usual. Please, just let us know you’re okay :(   
  


Yuri huffed out a sigh. Those idiots were impossible. But then again, they had bought the tickets, so he supposed he owed them that, at least. The more he thought about it, the more aware he became of his own insolence and felt a little guilty.

_ *Thumbs up emoji*   
_ Я тут. Все в порядке.  
__ I’m here. Everything’s fine.   
  


He hoped that would placate them, but his phone had barely had time to lock before another message buzzed through.

Хорошо :) Как погода? Как прошел твой полет? Ты все еще в аэропорту?  
_ Okay :) What’s the weather like? How was your flight? Are you still at the airport? _   
  


Yuri rolled his eyes. 

Хватит меня доставать! Я устал!  
_ Quit nagging! I’m tired! _   
  


He was sure that would be enough to convince the couple he was his usual self. The teen may not have been especially adept at showing his thanks to them, because he truly did know how much they cared about him, but right now all he could think about was watching the flow of traffic coming up the slip ramp toward the airport’s entrance, listening to the sound of each engine before it banked the slight hill.

Ладно, ладно! Развлекайся :) и береги себя! Позвони нам, если тебе что-либо понадобится.  
_ Alright, alright! Have fun :) and be safe! Call us if you need anything. _   
  


He didn’t know why this kept happening, but a warmth spread through him as he read the text. Viktor had, for the past few years, been an annoying (and, he begrudgingly admitted,  _ inspiring _ ) presence in his life. Sure, he was more keen to let Yuri take risks than Yakov was, but he still didn’t like being told what to do when he was already good at it. But since the Japanese Yuuri had come along, things had changed. Viktor always seemed like a big kid, sometimes more immature than Yuri himself, but at times he was also stoic and moody. Since his surprise career break, and especially since Katsuki had moved to be with him, he seemed… softer, somehow. And Yuri found himself, reluctantly, beginning to like his old mentor’s fiancé. Now, Viktor and Yuuri were more like older brothers to him. He liked the feeling, and he hated himself for that.

Yuri was quickly pulled out of his train of thought by the noise of an engine unlike any of the others; louder, with a slight rattle to it. He ignored the way his heart seemed to flip in his chest... tamped down the nerves that made the hairs on his arms stand. His face remained positioned down toward his phone, but his eyes gazed at the dark figure and motorcycle coming into view. Yuri felt as if he wasn't in his own body; like he was looking down from the airport windows at a cool-looking but nervous youngster as a loud motorcycle pulled up in front of him.  
Yuri looked up, acutely aware that a 'normal' person would have noticed the loud engine and intriguing looking figure by now. The leather-clad rider remover his helmet and glasses and threw a slight smile in Yuri's direction. Without getting off, he pulled open the compartment behind him and retrieved another matte black helmet, then held it out to be taken.

"Ты идешь?"  
"Coming?"

That was all that was said.  
And Yuri pulled the other strap of his bag over his arm, wearing it like a backpack, secured the helmet he had taken, and climbed on behind the mysterious-looking Kazakh.  
There were a few looks from people around him, but before he had time to even register them, the bike was disappearing down the slip road and into the beautiful landscape of Almaty.  
Yuri relished every feeling that came with the moment. The roar of the engine beneath him, the hard muscles of the larger body between his thighs, the cold leather his fingers clung to, and the warmth that radiated from beneath that leather and through to his hands, his arms, his chest. He felt like he should have been looking around at the view, the gorgeous snow-topped mountains... but right now all he could concentrate on was the figure in front of him. Black hairs flying in the chilled breeze as they fell from the constraints of the helmet, the muscles that strained in the driver's neck as they turned to look when manoeuvring, the way toned biceps raised and fell under the leather after accelerating... and above all else, how exhilarated he felt right now. Maybe even as much as on the ice. 

Yuri didn't know how long he had been lost in his thoughts, but as the bike slowed to a stop, he became aware that he was not where he expected to be. It was not an apartment block they had stopped at, but a small street with a few businesses dotted down it, including the cafe they were currently in front of.   
The man in front dismounted and removed his helmet, and Yuri got to see fully, in the flesh for the first time in months, his best friend Otabek Altin.  
He ran a hand through his hair to muss the helmet-flattened strands, and Yuri could see his fresh undercut, shorter than usual through thick, defined digits.

“Кофе?”  
"Coffee?"

Yuri nodded, pulling himself out of a daze and getting off the bike whilst removing the helmet. 

"Присмотри за мотоциклом."  
"Watch the bike."

Otabek said, before disappearing inside through a heavy wooden green door.  
Yuri wandered over to the gathering of metal tables and chairs in front of the windows, placing his bag down in one and sitting in another. Even through the several layers of clothing he was wearing, the metal was freezing, and he felt a small chill run up his spine. He didn’t want to be inside, though. It was quiet here, just early enough that there was not yet the slew of people coming for their morning caffeine fixes. Here, he felt as if he could just enjoy the peacefulness of Almaty, and the company that came along with it.  
He rubbed his hands together, fisting a handful of fabric from his hoody to warm them. The door creaked behind him a few minutes later, and Otabek approached, sitting and placing down two paper cups of coffee and a handful of sugar sachets in front of Yuri, somehow predicting his sweet tooth. Yuri fumbled through his pockets for his wallet to offer the older man some money, but Otabek rejected it with a wave. He was silent, staring out into the street ahead. Yuri wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t get nervous very often, but now seemed to be one of those rare occasions.

"Я рад, что ты здесь, Юра."  
“I’m glad you’re here, Yura.”

Otabek turned to him, a wry smile playing on the corner of his lips. Despite his mischievous appearance, Yuri could feel the warmth that radiated from the statement.

"Ага. Спасибо, что встретил меня."  
“Yah. Thanks for getting me.”

"Не вопрос. Как прошел твой полет?"  
“That’s alright. How was your flight?”

"Ой, скучно"  
“Ugh, boring.”

His speech was a little stunted, and their conversation formal. It was a far cry from the conversations they’d been sharing via text for the past few months, which were familiar and chatty. Otabek grunted a reply of understanding to Yuri’s response, looking toward the street as he picked up the cup and blew into the tiny hole on the plastic lid of his coffee. Yuri suddenly became aware of his lack of field vision, his hood still pulled up and the sides covering most of his face. He fumbled in his pocket for a hair tie, which he found wrapped around a pack of gum, then pulled his hood down and his hair up into a messy bun.  
Yuri liked his hair being longer now, allowing him to do more with it, and tried to ignore the constant comments he got about looking like a young Viktor. He couldn’t really deny the similarity really, and he  _ had _ liked Viktor with long hair, but he was nothing like that idiot. Not  _ really. _ He thought this before he noticed that his friend was staring at him, watching amusedly as he had masterfully twisted up his hair.

"Что?"  
“What?”

"Мне нравится эта прическа."  
“I like your hair like that.”

And then Yuri felt himself actually  _ blush _ .  
Dammit!  
He hoped that it wouldn’t show, but he knew that was an unrealistic expectation for his pale Russian skin. To compensate, he quickly grabbed the coffee and brought it to his mouth, hoping that it might just look like the warmth of it had brought the colour to his cheeks. 

"Спасибо, Бека"  
“Thanks, Beka” 

He mumbled as he brought the still-bitter liquid to his lips. It was the first time he had called Otabek by his nickname to his face, and judging from the raise in the older man’s eyebrows, he seemed to enjoy it.

"Так, что ты думаешь про Алматы?"  
“So, what do you think of Almaty?”

They drank their coffees and enjoyed relaxed conversation, talking mainly about the weather, the previous season, and plans for the summer. Yuri hoped that the strong coffee would counteract his lack of sleep, but somehow he found the warm liquid in his belly made him even more tired… his eyes falling heavily down with every blink as he tried to concentrate on Beka telling him about the new Ice Palace of Almaty. After a few moments of silence, Yuri became aware that his eyes had been closed for several seconds, and he blinked them open suddenly. The dark-haired man next to him’s brows were furrowed, watching him with narrow eyes.

"Давай-ка... поехали."  
“Come on… let’s go.”

Otabek rose, taking their almost-empty cups and disposing of them in the nearby bin. He passed Yuri the helmet sat on the table, then strapped his on. Yuri followed suit, certain that the helmet was heavier now than when he had first taken it this morning. He got on the bike behind his now-seated friend, and clutched lightly at his hips.

"Туже."  
“Tighter.”

Yuri swallowed the embarrassment that he was surprised to find rise within him, then entwined his arms around Beka, now fully wrapped around his chest. He could feel the strong muscles of his pecs underneath his palms, and as he pulled off, Yuri tried hard not to fall asleep under the soothing sound of the loud engine and the warmth of the man in front of him.

***

They only rode for about ten minutes before Otabek pulled up a small side street lined with trees, just starting to regrow their leaves for the impending Spring. As the bike came to a stop and the engine stilled, Yuri could hear birds calling through the crisp morning air. The man held out his hand for Yuri’s helmet, which he passed to him after removing it. Otabek put it in the compartment under the seat, then walked toward a building with a dark stained wooden door, and opened it with a key. Yuri wasn’t sure what he had expected about where Otabek lived, but still found that the reality surprised him.  
The door creaked a little as it swung open, and Beka smiled round at Yuri, holding the door open for him. He entered, coming into a small foyer with just a few black mailboxes nailed to the walls. Otabek followed him in, closing the door fully, then began to ascend the stairs in front.  
Yuri followed him up one flight of stairs before once again his friend stood, unlocking a door (black and painted this time). It opened and he flicked a switch on the wall to illuminate the room before once again allowing Yuri to pass through first. He came into a comfortable-looking living area with a light wooden floor. There was a grey corner sofa, a tv and stand, a bookcase, coffee table, a small kitchen lining one wall with cupboards and an oven. On the far side were two doors, and the rest of the walls were mostly blank, save for a couple of posters. It was small, but it was impressively tidy, and nicely decorated for an 18 year old guy living alone. Yuri could understand the appeal: the quiet street, the trees directly outside shielding the apartment from the view of others', the clean decor. He could have comfortably lived here, he thought.

"Ты должен поспать, Юра. Ты наверняка вымотан."  
"You should sleep, Yura. You must be exhausted."

Yuri turned, pulled from the concentration he had been paying to the room around him, and all the small details of Beka's life here. He was tired, yes, but he had just arrived. He felt guilty for the sleep that weighed upon him, eager to cloak his eyes at any moment.  
Otabek was trying to take his bag from him now, and as Yuri allowed it to slip from his shoulder, he followed the man to one of the doors on the other side of the room.

"Ты можешь занять кровать. Я посплю на диване."  
"You can have my bed; I'll sleep on the sofa."

Yuri was thankful of the offer. He wanted to tell his friend that he didn't need to do that, that he didn't mind sleeping on the sofa and he should have his own bed, but he also didn’t want to seem rude and unappreciative.  


"О. Спасибо."  
"Oh. Thanks."

Beka smiled as he dropped Yuri's bag onto the bed, then turned back to the door.

"Поспи, Юра"  
"Get some sleep, Yura."

He paused a little, the both of them unsure what to do. For a fleeting moment, Yuri thought he was going to hug him, but then he outstretched a hand instead. Yuri took it and Beka grasped firmly, huffing out an amused smile at the blond, before turning and leaving.  
As the door clicked close, Yuri took in the sight of his friend's room. He didn't remember the last time he had even been invited over to someone's house, let alone in their room. Of course there was Lilia, Yakov, Viktor, Yuuri... he knew their places well, but certainly not their bedrooms. A shiver ran down his spine at the implication of the thought, and then suddenly Yuri realised how strangely intimate it felt to be stood here.  
There wasn't much: a desk, the bed, a dresser. The walls were a deep muted red and the sheets grey and black. There was a picture on the dresser of what Yuri presumed to be a young Otabek with his mother, which he picked up and smiled at fondly. Just as Yuri put it down a long yawn escaped from him. He  _ was  _ tired.  
Yuri toed off his shoes and removed his jacket, sitting gingerly on the bed. The mattress was firm, and hardly dipped at all under the lithe figure that had placed itself there. He lay back, and tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach.  _ This was where Beka lay every night.   
_ He pulled the phone out of his pocket, grasping with slim fingers that seemed to have difficulty keeping hold right now. Viktor had kept to his word: he had no new texts. Yuri's arm dropped heavily back down, and he allowed his eyes to close for the first time in two days.

***

Yuri twisted and turned, but something felt different. He couldn't get in his usual position with his feet up near the wall, and there didn't seem to be any soft purring anywhere near him as usual. His brows knitted together, still closed, as he spent a few moments, wriggling, and trying to work out what was wrong. The sheets didn't even feel or seem right, they smelled amazing but it was not the scent of Yuri's usual cheap laundry detergent. And as he opened his eyes, he noted the source of the problem: He was not, in fact, in his own bed.  
Memory came back to him as stale breath escaped with a yawn, his limbs climbing away from him in alternate directions with a stretch.   
_ Beka's room _ .  
He blinked, attempting to shake the last remnants of sleep from his lids, and grabbed around for his phone. He found it under a pillow. It was 1:12pm. He had been asleep for 6 hours. 

_ Oh crap. _

Yuri rose and walked hesitantly toward the door. He wasn't sure what to expect, what Beka would be doing. He almost wanted to knock before entering the living room, then swallowed the thought down, deciding that would be ridiculous. Yuri stepped out, and into a completely comfortable scene.  
Beka was on the couch, leaning forward with a control in his hand, rapidly firing at a heavily armoured enemy in a game. He did a double-take as Yuri exited, giving a quick

“Привет”  
"Hey"

before turning back to the screen. It was a sight Yuri had seen before, just not from this angle. When they had video called each other, Otabek would often be sitting in exactly the same position, only Yuri would be looking slightly up at him from where the phone balanced on the tv stand. Now, Yuri stood a little awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head as his friend continued his game.  
A few moments later, the metal-clad character fell to the ground of the sandy landscape, the screen turning red. Otabek then stood, walking over to the kitchen. Now he had been comfortably at home for several hours, Yuri saw what had been beneath the layers that shielded him from a frosty Kazakh spring. He was wearing a black t-shirt, dark, straight-cut jeans, grey socks. Near where he had sat on the sofa was the piled knit of a crumpled pale cable sweater.

"Хочешь чего-нибудь выпить? Прости, я не предложил тебе воды раньше"  
"Do you want something to drink? I'm sorry I didn't give you any water before."

"Да, спасибо"  
"Yeah, thanks."

"Апельсинового сока?"  
"Orange juice?"

"Конечно."  
"Sure."

Yuri padded over to him, standing a few feet away and leaning on a dark granite-topped counter as Otabek retrieved the carton from the fridge.

"Прости, я спал слишком долго"  
"I'm sorry I slept so long"

Otabek shot him a curious smile, as  if questioning why he would worry about something like that.

"Не извиняйся. Тебе это было нужно."  
"Don't apologise. You needed it."

He passed Yuri the glass of orange juice and poured some out for himself.   
Neither of them were particularly good at ice breaking (well, at least in the conversational sense), but Yuri was desperate to talk to his friend the way they had done in the past. He wanted to see him smile, talk about anything that would take away the awkwardness that hung in the air.

"Так сколько раундов ты выиграл в этот раз, неудачник?"  
"So how many rounds did you win this time, loser?"

Yuri gestured over to the screen with his eyes, Otabek's character now revived on screen, but stood still as other characters ran wildly about around him. His friend rolled his eyes, turning back to walk toward the sofa.

“Я провел сотни матчей в Горне, а все никак не получу удачный дроп Матадора!”  
"I've run the Crucible hundreds of times and I still can't get this god roll Matador!"

Yuri huffed out a laugh, understanding what would have seemed like a foreign language to others after so many conversations with his friend about the gun he so desperately wanted in-game. They walked to the comfortable sofa and sat, Otabek flopping a little heavier down on the cushions. They remained in comfortable silence for a few moments, just drinking their juice, and then Otabek turned.  


"Я тут подумал, мы можем выбраться куда-то на обед, если ты хочешь? Я не очень хорошо готовлю"  
“So I thought we’d head out for lunch, if you want? I’m not much of a cook.”

"Да, звучит замечательно. Не хотелось бы отравиться или что-то типа того"  
“Yeah, sounds great. Don’t really want to get poisoned or anything.”

Beka laughed and Yuri felt warmth building inside of him at the sight. When Viktor and Yuuri laughed (usually at each other), Yuri would roll his eyes and call them names under his breath; when Beka did it, it seemed like one of the nicest sounds he ever heard. Was this part of friendship?   
As he finished up his orange juice he became aware that he had been travelling and sleeping in the same clothes for nearly 24 hours.

"Не против если я приму душ?"  
“Do you mind if I take a shower?”

"Нет, конечно нет"  
“No, of course not.”

Otabek rose and walked toward the door next to the bedroom. Yuri placed the glass down on the coffee table and followed, before his friend pointed out where he could find everything. Beka left him with a warm smile as he began to close the door.

***

The warm water had been utterly refreshing. Now that he had slept and showered and brushed his teeth, Yuri was ready for food. He put some fresh clothes on, then towel-dried and brushed his hair. Usually he would let it dry before heading out, but he figured Beka and he should head out soon, given that it was well past lunch-time for them both now. He grabbed two hair ties before exiting the bedroom and walking to rejoin his friend on the sofa.

"Лучше?"  
“Better?”

"Да, спасибо"  
“Yah, thanks.”

Yuri used his fingers to part down his hair, and began to separate strands on one side, weaving them intricately and swiftly into a French braid. He finished the left side of his hair in barely a minute, then as he turned his head slightly to work on the right, noticed that Beka was staring at him with his mouth agape.  


"Что?"  
“What?”

"Невероятно. Как ты это сделал?"  
“That’s amazing. How did you do that?”

Yuri couldn’t help his face falling into a wide smile.

"Просто практика"  
“Just practice.”

He definitely wasn’t going to tell him that most of that practice had involved sitting cross-legged in front of Viktor as he taught him, although to be honest, he figured his friend could probably have worked that out by himself. Once the second braid was tied off, he slapped his hands down on his knees.

"Так что ты там говорил о еде?"  
“So, you mentioned food?”

"Да, пойдем"  
“Yeah, let’s go.”

Otabek’s sweater was already back on, so he pulled on his boots and leather jacket and Yuri slipped his heels back into his Vans and lifted his denim. Then, they were heading out the door.

***

They didn’t get back on the bike. They walked just a few minutes down the road and ended up in a restaurant, where they both crammed down burgers and fries and large cokes. Yakov would kill Yuri if he saw him eating like that, but well, it was a special occasion. More or less.  
The more time they spent together, the more time Yuri felt himself falling into the rhythm of just  _ being _ with his friend. The conversations flew effortlessly and without awkwardness, and they spent most of them laughing. Once again, Otabek refused to let Yuri pay anything, and Yuri resolved that at some point he’d have to rectify that and do something for him… he just wasn’t sure what right now. As they walked out of the restaurant, Yuri was finishing up a particularly hilarious impression of Yakov scolding him for tying the Japanese Yuuri’s boot laces together when he wasn’t looking. Otabek braced his hand on the wall as he doubled over with laughter and the restaurant door shut behind him.

"Может мне стоит переехать в Россию; это смешно!"  
“Maybe I should move to Russia; that’s hilarious!”

"Тебе стоит"  
“You should.”

It escaped his mouth much faster and with much more seriousness than he had anticipated.  
Caught up in the moment, the adrenaline of laughter, the ease of discussion, Yuri had comfortably let slip what he only realised now was one of his greatest desires.  
His friend’s face changed, laughter dropping into something more serious, then twisting into curiosity. Yuri coughed, contorting his head away as if looking around as Otabek straightened himself and gestured.

"Сюда"  
“This way.”

They walked quietly, Yuri’s hands anxiously picking at loose threads inside the material of his pockets, his head dropped, until he sensed his friend halt in front of him. His head jerked up and he noticed they were in a large park, with a lake not far away ahead of them. It was beautiful. Beka asked if he wanted a hot drink, and they went and got hot chocolates from the stand nearby before sitting on a bench in front of the stunning water, still in the chill air.  
Otabek was leaning forward slightly, cupping both his hands around the cup as he stared at nothing. Yuri sat back a little, able to see only a slither of side of his face as it leant in front of him.

"Тут хорошо, Бека."   
“It’s nice here, Beka.”

They had barely spoken since outside the restaurant. Yuri yearned to go back to the comfortable laughter they had shared during their lunch. 

"Мама часто приводила меня сюда, когда я был маленький. Тут еще и аквапарк недалеко. Помню, я был жутко злой, что не смог приходить сюда в то лето, когда я уехал тренироваться с Яковом."  
“My Mum used to bring me here when I was young. There’s a water park nearby, too. I remember being so pissed that I wouldn’t be able to come here that summer I went to train with Yakov.”

"Ха, держу пари, что угодно лучше, чем тренировки" **  
**“Yah, I bet anything beats that.”

Yuri snorted derisively, raising the cup to his lips. Otabek sat back so they could look at each other as they conversed.

"Ты не можешь думать, что он настолько плох. Ты проводишь с ним каждый день."  
“You can’t think he’s that bad. You’re with him everyday.”

Yuri sighed at the truthful statement. He liked the old man, really. Besides, he was the best coach working right now.

“Он  _ действительно _ лучший тренер из всех. Хоть и заноза в заднице.”  
"He  _ is _ the best coach I could ask for. A pain in the ass though."

“Спорю, ты тоже та еще заноза.”  
"Well I bet you're a pain in his too."

Otabek smiled once again, and then the pair burst into laughter. It hadn't really been all that funny, but in that moment they both needed the release. 

They rose together and decided to walk around the park, admiring the buds of flowers that began to push through the hard dirt. They walked until the light began to fade, turning the sky a grey-pink canvas of cloud. Then they decided to walk back. The conversation was normal once again, and they could focus on nothing but each other.

***

The next day was the only full day they had together, with Yuri catching a flight early the next morning.  
They decided not to make any big plans; instead, Otabek took Yuri around all his favourite places in the city. They walked around the centre, and stopped for lunch at a relatively healthy spot this time. Then, Beka took Yuri to a massive book store, and they spent ages perusing everything. Yuri liked the idea of books more than the actuality; he wasn't a big reader, but he appreciated the aesthetic. Otabek however, was so excited by the store that Yuri just enjoyed watching him hop from aisle to aisle like a kid in a candy store.  
As it reached the late afternoon, Otabek turned to Yuri.

“Есть идеи на счет ужина? Мы можем поесть снаружи, если хочешь, или я могу просто заказать пиццу?”  
"What should we do about dinner? We can eat out of you want, or I can just order pizza?"

Pizza sounded heavenly right now. Yuri was surprisingly tired, having been shopping for a while and discovering several more tiger-themed items to add to his collection. Otabek has seemed particularly fond of an oversized black sweater Yuri had found, with just a tiny embroidered tiger at the hem. It came halfway to his knees, which he wasn't altogether sure about initially, but Beka assured him that it was very fashionable and suited him. Somehow, Yuri had then not been able to resist purchasing it.  
He found now he would be perfectly happy just to return to the flat and chill with his friend eating pizza. However, that wasn’t what he found himself saying.

“Я не против; все что ты хочешь”  
"I don't mind; whatever you want."

Otabek didn't even pause to think.

“Ладно, значит будет пицца”  
"Okay, pizza it is then."

***

Once they were back, Yuri dumped his stuff in the bedroom next to his weekend bag, and realised that he would have to leave this all soon. He had barely been there any time at all, and soon he would be parted with Beka once more. He hadn't been altogether in love with Almaty, but the company had kept him entranced this whole trip, and he didn't feel ready to give it up.   
He slipped off his shoes and jacket, and wondered why he felt this way. Were they really that good of friends? They had only really "met" each other again a few months ago... but even so, they spoke everyday, at intervals through the entire day. They had opened up to each other about almost everything now. In fact, the only topic they hadn't touched on was romance.  
It wasn't something that Yuri was altogether keen to talk about, especially given that he had so little experience in the area. He didn't have time to think about that crap; he had to skate. But somehow he found himself compelled, wondering how Beka felt about it. Whether there was anyone Beka liked? He had never mentioned. But Yuri swallowed the thought for now, listing it in his brain as a conversation his friend should bring up first. He certainly wasn’t going to.  
The blond quickly changed into a pair of sweatpants, and left the room. The older teen was on the sofa, scrolling through his iPad. It looked like he was on a food ordering app.

“Так чего тебе хочется?”  
“So, what do you like?”

***

After they had demolished nearly all of the pizza and played several rounds where they relished shooting at each other and ripping into the other about their gaming skills, they sat, talking and laughing. Otabek was on the sofa, and Yuri had shifted to the floor to stretch his legs out, getting more comfortable. His legs had started to ache these days, and in the past month he had grown another inch, making him nearly as tall as Beka. He hated it. Yuri had always known that one day his body would have to grow some more, but he wasn’t altogether ready for it.  
His head was next to Beka’s knee, and every so often he’d crane his neck back to be able to look at him. Yuri raised his hand and scratched at the back of his head. His scalp ached, having worn his hair up too tight all day.

“Тот момент, когда длинные волосы это отстой”  
“This is the part of having long hair that sucks”

He moaned, and rubbed the tips of his fingers into his crown.

“Хочешь, я расплету их для тебя?”  
“Want me to take it out for you?”

Yuri was glad now to be facing away from Beka, and that he wouldn’t be able to see the deep shade of red painting his face. He was sure he had misheard.

“Что?”  
“What?”

“Твои волосы; хочешь, я расплету их?”  
“Your hair; want me to take it out?”

Yuri swallowed, and dropped his hand. Once again he found himself in the strange predicament of being placed in a situation he had been in before, but it feeling different with the older teen. Viktor had done Yuri’s hair several times before, but the thought of  _ Otabek’s _ touch… 

“Да, конечно… спасибо.”  
“Sure… thanks.”

He was pretty sure his breath hitched on the last word, and he coughed to try and cover it. Then, he felt Beka shift behind him, moving one leg so that Yuri was now sat between them. He felt the heat from his body as his friend sat forward, and the sensation of fingers running through the strands of his ponytail before searching for the hair tie which bound them. He pulled lightly, careful not to cause any discomfort to the young Russian, and slid the elastic from the blond hairs.   
Yuri moaned audibly, then his cheeks flushed once more. 

“Хорошо?”  
“Feel good?”

Beka’s voice was low behind him. But Yuri didn’t answer, just hummed a tone of agreement and thanks. He expected the fingers to retreat now, but instead, they pushed up and under his hair, massaging into his scalp and separating the hair that was bunched together.   
Yuri involuntarily closed his eyes, his muscles relaxing back into the touch. Thick digits moved under the hair like waves, around the sides, down to the neck, up to the crown… then brushing through the strands again to ensure they didn’t stick out everywhere. Yuri wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, Beka’s hands working masterfully through his locks… but he was certain he could stay like that forever.  
The touch was simultaneously electrifying and calming, and Yuri tried hard not to let his body shake at the shivers that threatened to crawl up his spine. Beka’s hands were grasping now, pulling a little - but not painfully - at Yuri’s hair. He found that he liked it.

And then, entirely too soon for Yuri’s liking, Beka’s hands retreated and were gone.

Yuri’s head lolled backwards, searching for the digits, but landed on the sofa between Beka’s legs instead. He opened his eyes. His friend was staring down at him, and Yuri saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. There was silence, then Yuri felt fingers running across his jawline. This time he failed at disguising his shiver.

“Ты красивый, Юра.”  
“You’re beautiful, Yura.”

Then Beka was leaning forward, and before Yuri had time to register, soft plump lips brushed against his own.

Yuri allowed himself to be kissed, tenderly, for the very first time, and then Beka breathed out against the pink flesh.

“С днем рождения, Юрочка.”  
“Happy birthday, Yuratchka.”

***

Yuri was performing a particularly gruelling step sequence when the door to the rink creaked open, but he was too busy concentrating on the ice to notice anything around him. As he finished up, panting a little, his eyes shifted to the dark figure at the side of the rink, rolling two suitcases behind him.

“Бека!”  
“Beka!”

He yelled, stumbling a little on the ice as he skated swiftly over.

“Нет! Абсолютно нет!”  
“No! Absolutely not!”

Yakov was yelling as he approached, pushing past the beaming and astonished faces of Yuuri and Viktor.

“У меня и так полно; я не могу взять еще и тебя!”  
“I have too many; I can’t take you as well!”

Yakov’s face was as red as Borscht, but Otabek just turned to him with a stoic smile.

“Вообще-то мой тренер приехал со мной. Но не могли бы мы использовать ваш каток?”  
“Actually, my own coach has come with me. But could we use your rink?”

Yakov looked at Yuri. He didn’t think he had ever seen his youngest prodigy so happy. There were already enough skaters here as it was; the ice ( _ and his schedule _ ) was packed with them. But he also fondly remembered Otabek from all of those years ago; a boy who he’d thought had no future in skating and had proven him wrong. He sighed deeply.

“Ладно! Похоже, вы все хотите в Питер! Но я говорю сразу: нет  _ ни малейшего шанса _ я позволю тому швейцарскому извращенцу ступить на мой лед!”  
“Fine! Seeing as you all seem to want to be in Piter! But I will tell you this now: there is  _ no way _ I will have that Swiss perv setting foot on my ice!”


End file.
